Weight
by Lady Storm
Summary: Martin moves to Noonvale. Trouble follows. Modern-day AU witness protection program/high school.
1. Chapter 1

"The court finds the defendant guilty of four counts of manslaughter and will face life in prison without possibility of parole."

Martin sagged. Movement in the courtroom was lost on him; the guard at his side placed a hand on his shoulder to bring him to and usher him out. There was noise and motion, but Martin was looking for his father. He found him among the throng of people, sitting still, staring straight ahead.

"My dad," he said, but nobeast acted. "My dad!" he exclaimed louder, but the guard shook his head. The bulk of the court moved toward the large double doors, but Martin was herded out a side door where his escort waited, disguised as a news van. The noise fell to a sudden hush and was replaced with the September chill. His father remained behind. His complaints were ignored until they died out, so he stopped paying attention to his surroundings. After the events of this past year, Martin was getting used to retreating into himself and letting the world move him, without him.

His case worker was a kind hedgehog named Emanuel, or Manny. Sometime later they sat in his hotel room with coffee and tea, though Martin didn't partake. He'd been living in this hotel room for months, yet it showed no sign of a long-term inhabitant; Martin had no possessions. A few other members of his unit stood about as Manny sat across from him.

"It went as expected," Manny said. He tapped on his tablet and put it down. "No parole, maximum security. Out of your way for good."

Martin nodded bleakly. Outside the sun shone in the September day. The curtains were partially drawn, allowing Martin but a glimpse at what a normal life was like.

"Some of his underlings are still at large. It's confidential, but I feel you would feel better for hearing this: we're pretty close to catching a few of them." Manny smiled. Martin knew it probably was a bluff. But points for trying.

"So… let's talk about you. You'll -"

"What will happen to my dad?" The question was soft.

Manny's shifting was so textbook shady that he expected the other agents to trade glances. But they remained stoic. "Your father…" Manny started slowly, "well, he's not doing well, mentally. He'll have to stay at a psychiatric center a little longer, especially to process the verdict."

"You're separating us?"

"I'm sorry."

Martin ducked his head. He thought he'd cry, but the well that was his emotions had dried exactly eight months ago, on a cold January night.

"Because of his condition, you'll be allowed to visit. But yes, he'll be remaining here. We'll transfer him somewhere discreet when he's ready. And I'll let you know as things develop."

Manny was genuinely sorry. He was beyond middle age, and it showed in the greying of his spikes. His face was lined with frown and laugh lines. He might actually arrange a visit, Martin supposed. He looked invested.

"Thank you." Martin unfolded his hands and took a sip of water for the first time.

Encouraged, Manny smiled again. "Anytime. Now this is the fun part. You get to be a whole new you. New identity, new look, new place. A fresh start," he beamed and shuffled in the case at his side. Papers emerged and were placed on the table between them.

"Here's a list of possible locations. A big city works both with and against us, but ultimately we think you'd be better in a small town." He slid a sheet toward Martin. "Town of Noonvale, population under 7,000. Historic village turned town, great food, lots to do outdoors. I hear their public school is ranked pretty well."

Martin took the sheet out of politeness. "Alright. This is fine."

Manny paused. "So, this one? Sure you don't want to look at the rest?"

Martin shook his head.

"Well alright. Now we need to fix you up a little…"

A new identity was presented to him. "You won't have to act," he was reassured. "We'll just change your headfur color and cut. Maybe contacts if you can stand them. You will have a monthly stipend and we'll provide for lodgings and food, so you'll even be able to live somewhere that's not a hotel, eh? Bet you're sick of this place. New clothes, new name. New you."

**PART 1: NOONVALE**

"Detention?" The fork never made it past her father's lips.

Brome sunk lower and dinner around the table stilled.

"What on Earth for?" her father growled.

Brome mumbled something. He typically had a strong voice. Obviously if a sinkhole opened anywhere within a two kilometer radius, Brome would gladly leap into it. Unfortunately, no freak accident thus far; he remained in the path of his father's wrath.

"Sit up straight. Talk to me normally," he was commanded. Brome seemed to die inside as he met his father's gaze.

"Three unexcused absences."

She saw the grip tighten on the fork. "School has only been in session for two weeks."

Thankfully her mother intervened. "Dear," she cautioned, "this is the first we're hearing about this. Why didn't the school call?"

Brome shrugged unhappily, but Rose knew he'd probably begged the sweet secretary, Ms Hollander, to let him break the news. He may not even have planned to tell his parents, but a family event fell during his detention. Rose's recital was tomorrow, and how could he wiggle out of it? He'd confided this in his sister, who'd gently advised him to own up to the truth.

"Why have you been skipping school?"

A tense silence followed. Brome pushed around his salad.

Rose and Brome's father was Urran Voh, a tall mouse, handsome with age, and almost regal. He was also the mayor of Noonvale. His child, anything less than a pillar of wholesome values? Unacceptable.

Dinner did not end well. Though she and her mother tried to intervene, Urran still yelled until his whiskers shook and Brome yelled back, having the larger lung capacity of the two. Brome stalked off, smashing his chair aside and stomping to his room in a show of aggression that had been more and more common lately.

"That child," Urran growled, lowering himself back down.

"Puberty," her mother chided. "It's normal to rebel."

"But what is he up to while skipping? Can you imagine the stain on my reputation if someone sees him doing drugs on a street corner?!" he repeated. Rose sighed. When your father was a political figure, your problems were also his problems. Sometimes he'd turn things to being more about him than you, and it was an unspoken source of conflict around the house.

Thankfully the house was large enough they could ignore each other for the rest of the evening. Rose knocked on Brome's door afterwards, but he refused to answer. Probably blaming her for making him admit it. She texted her best friend Grumm about the situation, took a bath, did some light studying to review for an upcoming quiz. Grumm reassured her that all would be back to normal in a week. Feeling better, she went to bed.

A part of her envied Brome. She'd never worked up the courage to skip a day in her life. As the older sister, she was the exemplary one, and she wanted Brome's freedom. Instead she had chores and recitals… dance practice, math tutors, and a strict schedule.

"I'm being silly," she whispered in the dark. "Your life is good, Laterose Voh."

* * *

It was only the third week of school, but Rose already felt the monotonous routine forming. She got ready and kissed her parents goodbye, grabbed her things and drove herself and Brome to school. It wasn't until second period that things livened up.

"Hey," Her rabbit friend Alana whispered loudly from her left. "Was that guy always there?"

"Who?"

"Third from the left, white shirt."

Rose craned her neck. "I don't –" then she did see him.

The male mouse was staring dully out the window, holding his chin in his paw. He wasn't talking to anyone either, though a few near him had noticed him in the previously empty seat. Rose had lived in Noonvale her whole life and had attended school with mostly the same classmates. Some new creatures were moving in from Marshank, but none recently. He was definitely new.

"Nope," Rose said. "Definitely not."

"A new kid," Alana sighed dreamily. "Finally some excitement."

Rose smiled and got out her notes.

* * *

Manny had set some ground rules.

"No law breaking. Hard to protect you if you're the in the lock up, and hard for local law enforcement to care about saving your hide if you caused them pain."

Martin nodded. Not a problem.

Manny put up another claw. "No photos. No being in other beasts's photos. Kids are all about selfies these days. None of that either. You'll be absent during picture day at school, and make sure to duck from the Yearbook crew." Manny smiled.

Martin shrugged.

"No social media, no facebook, twitter, whatever the latest thing is. If it reveals anything about you, you can't have it."

There were more. Manny had even written them down for him, stuck them to his new fridge with magnets. No car for the moment, he'd travel by bus or have a member of his case unit drive him. Groceries and furniture would be provided to him, so no unnecessary trips to the store. No intimate friendships where he had to reveal too much about himself. Martin didn't think that'd be an issue. Seeing how quickly Manny glossed over it, he clearly didn't either.

And finally…

"Don't get in trouble at school," Manny sighed. "Try not to stand out in any way than being the new kid already does, alright? Whatever you do, ask yourself: am I leaving a trace of myself? And if the answer's yes, don't do it."

Martin had excelled at obeying all of them so far, except the last one. He looked down at his fist. Was that a speck of blood? The stoat on the floor gurgled, red stuff dripping down his snout. Yep.

An otter teacher came running, students clearing a path.

Shit.

In no time at all he was sitting in the principal's office. Martin knew he shouldn't feel so detached from the situation, but something wasn't right. He couldn't make himself feel the way his brain was telling him he should feel. For the past few months it felt like a thin film stood between his perception and reality. He was just waiting things out.

"Martin?" The principal questioned. "Are you new, son?"

All new, totally new. Come on, answer the question, Martin chided himself. Back to reality. "Yes. Sir."

The aging squirrel clasped his paws together. "So tell me what happened back there."

What happened is that the stoat had shoved Martin into a locker because he'd been standing in his way, trying to figure which was his. It had been so ridiculous that Martin was more offended by the trope than the act. He might even have said "Really?" as he swung a fist. Into the locker, fist crashing into the stoat's snout half a second later.

The reaction to hit was immediate. "Stop it before it starts," his father had said. "Anyone bothers you, stomp them out before they think they can mess with you."

(It had been different then. Where they were from, few beasts messed with Luke's son.)

Even worse that it was a stoat. Sitting in the principal's office, he could feel a trickle of rage behind the wall he'd built inside himself.

"Son?"

Keeping himself from gnashing his teeth, Martin said, "I didn't think, sir. That's really all it was. I was so nervous about being new and alone here that I wasn't paying attention when I was standing in front of my locker. That stoat pushed me and I just… overreacted. I'm sorry."

It did the trick; the principal relaxed. "I know it can be difficult. I especially appreciate the hardship of being confronted when you're vulnerable. Regardless… assault is serious, Mr. Alburn. Typically it would be a week suspension. However we'll make an exception and only give you two days after school detention."

The rest of the day moved forward. Sitting in the principal's office took all of lunch, for which Martin was secretly glad. Try navigating the notorious high school cafeteria when you're the new kid who just punched somebeast. Yikes.

After that, students did a little more than stare when he took a seat in class. They whispered loudly too. Martin didn't look at a single one of them.

After school suspension turned out to be a joke. You had to sit in a room until you could leave. This had been precisely what Martin had planned on doing when back in his own apartment; no loss. He trudged into a small classroom where a few other beasts were sitting, all looking defeated or annoyed. A squirrel by the window, angrily tapping a pen on his notebook. A mouse in the back, doing nothing but looking pretty sad. And the stoat.

The stoat was sitting in the front so that Martin had to walk by him to speak to the teacher in charge. He opened his mouth to speak, but Martin pulled his lips into a smile and raised a fist, ever so slightly. The stoat looked away.

Damn right.

He turned to the teacher. "Cell phones here," said the bored looking mouse with overly large glasses. Martin fished his phone out – government property, he thought to himself – and left it with the others. He found a table nearby, placing him a little close to the squirrel.

An hour passed in silence, Martin keeping himself busy by finishing the meager homework assigned to him, before the teacher left to go to the bathroom. "No talking!" She'd warned, slipping out.

"Hey," whispered the squirrel as soon as she left.

Martin turned. The squirrel was leaning toward him, trying to minimize the volume he'd have to use so the others couldn't hear him. "You're the one who punched that jerk?"

A tilt in the stoat's direction made Martin nod. The squirrel smirked.

"I'm Felldoh. Anyone who beats that guy's nose in is a friend of mine." He held out a paw.

Martin couldn't help a small smile. "Martin. Guess we're friends then." They shook paws.

"What are _you_ in for?" he asked. Felldoh rolled his eyes.

"Tardiness. I'm late every day and will continue to be. But they can't get that through their thick skulls. Wish I had done something as cool as you, though."

"Let's be honest, it was more dumb then cool."

"But satisfying, right?"

The teacher came back so Martin and Felldoh leaned away and went back to their silence. A minute ticked by before something buzzed on her desk.

"Whoever's phone that is, better turn it on silent." Warned the teacher, looking up from her book.

It buzzed again. They all ignored it until it buzzed a third time.

The teacher held up Martin's phone. "Whose is this?"

He got up to claim it, seeing the messages were from Manny. Oh, no.

"I wasn't inviting you to read your texts, mister…"

"I have to take this," Martin interrupted. "It's about my ride home. I'll be right back." He darted out before she could argue, and Martin knew she would.

Manny picked up immediately. "We had rules," said the phone crossly. "You were supposed to come straight back to the safe hou – the apartment. Where are you?"

"Detention."

"De– WHAT?"

Martin waited him out.

"Martin," Manny sighed, and it reminded him of his grandmother for a split second. It reattached him to reality.

"I… I punched somebeast. A stoat."

This time the silence was from the other end. Finally Manny said, "Alright, we'll talk this out tonight. I'll come over for dinner. When is detention over?"

"In about a half hour."

"I'll have a blue Honda waiting for you. Wave as you walk up like a friend is picking you up."

They hung up and Martin retreated to the classroom, handing his phone back to a scowling teacher. When it was over, Felldoh stopped him outside. "You here tomorrow too?"

An hour later Martin sat in his mostly barren apartment, sitting at the kitchen table in front of Manny. "I made a friend," he said in consolation.

Manny scowled over his casserole.

They finished their dinner through Manny's disapproval. After he left Martin did the dishes and looked around his place.

One bedroom, one bathroom, a small entryway, a kitchenette with a half wall looking into a decent-sized living room. Apart from the kitchen table and chairs, some dish sets, and a bed, Martin didn't have anything else. Maybe bags of clothes, most still folded by the store. Food in his pantry. That was all.

"There'll be a truck coming on the weekend," Manny had said happily, swiping through the notes on his tablet. "Couch, dresser, the works. Eh?"

"Thank you," Martin had said. He didn't care.

First day of school, first detention. He sat in his completely empty living room, devoid of anything but an outlet, a window, and a ceiling light. The dying day cast him in further gloom. First day of the rest of his life. He pulled his knees to his eyes and waited for the tears. None came, but that made it even worse.

* * *

The next day was a little different because now even his first period classmates were looking at him. Some were shaking their heads. Others were clearly impressed. Martin would blink and stare back casually until they were done.

When the last period before lunch ended, Martin sweat a little. Maybe he should find somebeast else to knock out, so he could sit through lunch again. He grabbed his stuff and walked in search of the library, because eating alone with a book sounded much better. Noonvale High School was rather luxurious for a public school. The library was in a different building, connected to the main one by a glass walkway, or you could walk through the garden. Martin decided he'd like some sunshine and sidestepped to take that route instead.

He emerged outside and took two steps before a voice above him called his name.

Felldoh was sitting on a sloping part of the roof, legs dangling casually. "Hey matey. Looking for company?"

Martin eyed a possible path to Felldoh's side. He wordlessly threw his schoolbag up for Felldoh to catch and climbed up hastily. A squirrel he was not, but he could grapple his way up without too much issue. Thankfully nobeast was outside this soon. Felldoh grinned at him.

They scurried out of sight, to a higher part of the roof hidden from sight. It was slightly diagonal, but level enough to sit.

"They're learning," Felldoh said with a raised brow. "No one nagged me this morning."

"Is this a sleeping in thing, or a necessary thing?"

"Necessary. I take care of my father until his aide shows up."

Martin nodded and left that alone.

"Boy, you really don't say much, do you," Felldoh leaned back on his elbows, his large tail flicking by his side. "Swing your fists and don't even say a word. Beasts will think you're simple."

Martin had to laugh.

"What happened with that stoat yesterday, anyway?"

"He pushed me into a locker." He made a face. "So cheesy. I mean, at least dunk my head in the toilet, or something. Have some respect." Martin had packed an apple, and bit into that.

Felldoh hooted with laughter and sat up to throw an arm around him. "You! I like you."

Lunch was nice afterall. It was sunny and Felldoh was a kindred spirit. He had a rough talk and rougher demeanor, but he was kind and accepted Martin immediately. When the small talk was done, he filled him in about the school.

"Moved here last year with my father. Noonvale's a nice place, but definitely classist. There's a major resentment for anybeast coming out of the encampment to the west, Marshank. Not that I disagree."

"Marshank?"

"A shanty town almost. Or like a commune but for criminals. Nothing but vermin."

The term was so racist that Martin was taken aback, but Felldoh shrugged. "It's true. Just stoats, rats, weasels and the like. They're slowly relocating here and there's a whole movement to either accommodate them, or kick them out."

Martin thought of the looks he'd gotten from classmates, and figured they were probably thinking he'd done them a favor. He told Felldoh as much.

"Most likely. Lots of snobby rich families here. Nice folk, but old fashioned."

The bell rang, and Martin found himself genuinely sorry.

But Felldoh grinned. "See ya in detention."

* * *

He looked forward to detention for the rest of the day and the irony wasn't lost on him.

Same classroom as last time, same creatures. He sat next to Felldoh, but the teacher made them sit one desk apart. He settled in to do nothing when the mouse from the back moved up and sat one seat away from Martin. He looked over curiously.

The mouse was younger, and well dressed. A first year, too nervous to be any older. His eye caught Martin's and he looked away quickly.

An admirer? Martin wondered at the proximity, but the teacher was looking over sternly at the sudden club forming. He dutifully took out some work to do.

A long hour and and half went by, then they were free to go. Felldoh stopped him just outside the door, and they both scowled at the stoat who brusquely rushed past.

"Hey matey. Mind giving me your number?"

Margin gladly pulled out his phone. It was empty of any contact save for Manny's, the rest were just addresses. His father's psychiatric center. His old home address. He thumbed in Felldoh's number.

"Excuse me," a timid voice said from the door, and they turned to see the smaller mouse.

"Yeah?" Martin and Felldoh said simultaneously. The male blinked.

The detention teacher cleared her throat loudly from inside, so they moved way. The two kept looking at the mouse expectantly.

"You're the one who punched Rotnose, right?"

Martin winced at the name. Goodness, they did not do themselves any favors, naming their kids that. "I guess that was his name, yeah."

The mouse's eyes lit up. "Cool."

Felldoh shot Martin a look.

"Brome. I'm Brome." He even enthusiastically held out a paw, the other clutching the backpack strap thrown over his shoulder. Martin took it, and so did Felldoh. "I was wondering... could you teach me how to punch?"

Felldoh gave a bark of laughter as Martin's brows shot up. "What?"

Brome had the decency to color a little. "I mean, I just thought it was really cool, how you didn't even hesitate... just BAM, right for the nose. Now he's not bothering you anymore, see?"

"Brome..." Felldoh said slowly. "Is somebeast bothering you?"

"No! I just want to learn, is all."

"I'm not gonna teach you how to punch," Martin said gently, carefully not laughing. "It might look cool, but it's not fun being a troublemaker. You shouldn't need to know how to punch if no beast is bothering you."

Brome's face fell. "Come on…" He had probably not expected the hooligans from detention to lecture him.

At this point they had made their way to the front of the school, and thankfully two cars were stalling outside. One of them honked. Martin shook his head.

The car honked again, and a ringtone sounded from Brome's pocket. He scowled and booked it to his ride. "Please teach me! I'll change your mind, you'll see!" He dashed out.

Felldoh and Martin shared a look. "Strange one, ain't he?" Felldoh mused.

* * *

He thought that all in all, it was a decent day. His phone rang, and Martin slightly hoped it would be Felldoh. But it was Manny, as usual.

"So I've thought about your situation," Manny began, "and we've discussed it with the health staff. They all agree. You need to go see a therapist."

All good feelings went out the window. "I thought I was done with that. You said I was good. I was better."

"That was before you socked a stoat in the face for no reason."

His vision was turning red and though he knew it wouldn't, he hoped the phone would snap in his paw. "Not for no reason -"

"Martin. You don't have a choice. You have anger -"

This time he let his rage take over, and he actually flung the phone against the wall. It bounced off and on to the carpet, leaving a dent in the wall. Martin yanked his keys from the counter and stormed outside, leaving his phone to itself in the empty home.

"...Issues." Manny sighed and hung up.

* * *

"Who were you talking to?" Rose was curious.

"No one," Brome sulked. He had seemed almost excited to get to school; now, driving away, he was not so spirited.

Rose shoved him playfully to cajole him into opening up, but he just huffed and turned his shoulder.

"Alright then mister grumpy whiskers," she rolled her eyes. "Last day of detention?"

"Yep. Dad still mad?"

"Yep."

Brome sighed and bopped his head on the window.

Rose felt for him and gently his rubbed his shoulder. They drove in silence for a few, lights and cars blazing by.

"So... any new friends this semester?" It was an old joke; they'd known most of their classmates since pre-kindergarden and if there were any friends to be had, those friendships would be in place already.

But Brome did brighten. Whatever transgression offended him, it was suddenly forgotten. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe. Did you hear about the mouse that punched Rotnose?"

Rose lifted a brow. "Yes..."

"He's really nice. I hope he's in detention tomorrow too."

She had to laugh at that. "For his sake or yours?"

Brome stuck out his tongue at her. It wasn't that he didn't have any friends. He was just... a character. He could retreat to a safe circle of old buddies if he wanted to. Brome seemed to idolize everything his father was not, and he had a wild streak in him that was out of place in their gentle lineage. Brome looked up to anyone who was confident and spoke their minds.

Violence prone thugs were no exception, apparently. She shook her head at him as they turned into their long drive way.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the week passed and each day was a slightly softer blow. Felldoh's friendship certainly made it easier. The grip of his novelty was loosening on the Noonvalers, but he _had _punched a beast. Classmates gave him a wide berth. Fine by him. Outside of school hours it was quiet; out of boredom Martin even did all his homework and got a head start on reading assignments. Definitely a new me, Martin thought. He let the book drop to the floor and gazed at his empty home.

His first weekend alone. Martin almost wanted to call Manny, but the agent had a life, and it was a shaky _almost _. Instead Martin put on his scuffed sneakers and took to the streets. In the old days, he and Timbal and the crew would be out late into the night, doing everything and nothing at all. Back then he'd been as stupid as he was happy, messing around with his friends. If only he could talk to -

Martin turned up music volume until it hurt and jammed his hands into his pockets. What good would it do to think about that?

He prowled the streets of the town until the sun wearied and waned. Noonvale was undeniably beautiful, overflowing with greenery and blue skies. There were luscious parks and gardens, vibrant stores, maintained trees lining each street, a wealth of generous public resources. (Martin made a mental note of the library; it seemed like a good place to hide in plain sight when the emptiness of this apartment wore him down again.) But as inviting as it was, it didn't feel real. Martin watched a family escort their small child from the store as the infant gleefully waved his new toy around. How could people live here? It seemed too idyllic. He tried to imagine their lives after they passed from his and found that he couldn't.

Martin walked, and walked, and walked. He ran out of things to see and walk to, and it was getting late. He had a small living allowance, maybe he could drop into a fast food place and get something to eat on his way back – a small treat to look forward to, a goal.

He was cutting through yet another park that had emptied out with the daylight when he saw a flash of someone familiar. The kid he'd met earlier that week, who's name he'd already forgotten. The kid looked unhappy, and was saying something to the individual next to him. Whatever he said got him a shove right into the tree.

Immediately Martin stepped behind a trunk to watch the rest of the scene unfold, yanking his earbuds out of his ears. With difficulty he could hear violent segments of the conversation.

"-did you say to me?!" Someone yelled.

The kid's reply was too low to discern, and Martin saw another figure step toward him. They were making the guy press his back into the tree to keep his distance. Martin edged closer.

"Yeah you've got no choice. You know what you owe-"

"Don't owe you shi-" The kid started to shout, but he doubled over from a blow to his stomach.

That was all Martin needed; he leapt toward them and was on the bullies in a second. A weasel and a rat. The element of surprise allowed him to get a solid two punches on the weasel, sternum and nose, who collapsed into a bush. When Martin turned to take care of the rat, he saw he was long gone, running away as fast as he could. Typical.

"Martin!"

The kid's shout made Martin's head snap back around just in time to see the weasel try to bodyslam him. Martin partially twisted out of the way but still got clipped and ended up shouldering the ground, wrestling with the weasel.

"The fuck do you want!" the weasel spat in his face. A fire licked at him inside. Martin rolled to the side and elbowed him under the jaw. That won him enough time to scramble to his feet and kick the guy in ribs. Again. And again.

Suddenly a hand gripped his wrist. Martin swivelled around to throw another punch but stopped just in time; it was the kid. His eyes were wide and wild, darting from Martin's face to the weasel panting with pain in the dirt. The heat of shame pulsed through him, which just made him angry again. Martin roughly tore his hand away, looking at the bully on the ground. He'd deserved it. Right?

The flames receded.

"Let's go," Martin muttered. "There could be more of them." And someone might have heard. The last thing he needed was a visit from the law, and worse, and someone notifying Manny.

The kid looked unsure but nodded. Whatever danger Martin posed, the bullies he'd been with before were probably worse. Martin inclined his head for him to follow, going back the way Martin had come and circling around to avoid whoever else might have come across the running rat.

"You hungry?" Martin asked. Brome, he remembered. That was the name.

Brome looked startled, and though he was still skittish, he hesitated. "Best to wait them out if there's people around here," Martin said gently. Brome agreed.

There was a diner nearby. They got a booth in the corner and Martin ordered them cokes. "You okay?" He finally asked.

Brome played with a straw wrapper. He took a shaky breath. "Yeah. I'm - yeah. Thank you. I would have been _totally _okay, you know, but I'm still glad you showed up. You didn't have to like, nearly kill the guy, though."

Martin shrugged a shoulder. "Those guys bother you a lot?"

Brome looked away. "Nah. Not really."

"Yeah? This is a typical Saturday - getting shoved around in the park?" At Brome's scowl, Martin added. "Did this have anything to do with you asking me to teach you how to punch?"

"Listen," Brome sighed. "I got into some trouble, okay? It's nothing big. They just like to pick on me."

The mouse did not like making eye contact when he lied. Martin sat back, stretching wide in his side of the booth. "'Bout what?"

"I don't have to tell you that."

Martin hummed, relenting. "Guess not." He could relate wanting to be left to his own devices, but there was definitely a mystery here. Martin was content to sit quietly until their food arrived and see what the silence would wring out of Brome.

A lot of chatter, it turned out.

"What were you doing around here?"

"Walking. Seeing the city."

"Right, you're new. City's a generous word for it." Brome rolled his eyes. "There's only like a hundred people here. I've lived here all my life, it's so boring. Not a lot of new kids come here. Well, there's a few Marshank folk." He wrinkled his nose. "That's where those - those jerks were from."

Martin had his chin in his paw. He raised an eyebrow in response. "Fates forbid that bad creatures come from Noonvale, huh?" He hadn't meant to let that slip out, but there it was.

Thankfully there was no offense and Brome had the grace to look a little ashamed. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry. I sounded like my dad there for a sec." He shuddered. "Speaking of which. I should probably go home, but…" Brome looked outside the grimy diner windows, where orbs of light and movement and noise thrummed beyond.

"Need a ride?" Martin asked.

"Yeah. Do you mind?"

"I walked here."

"Oh, right," Brome deflated. He pushed his plate of food aside and rummaged for his phone. "I guess I can ask my sister, but…" he looked up at Martin desperately. "Please don't say anything to her. I promise it's not a big deal and she doesn't need to know, alright?"

Martin shrugged. "Know about what?"

Brome paused. "Exactly." He typed out a message. "Do you want a ride too? It's late."

"No thanks." If Martin had to deal with any more questions he'd go insane. It'd been a long time since he had talked this much, and he felt drained. The silence of his empty apartment didn't seem too bad now. Ha, and just this morning he'd been driven mad by the emptiness. Looks like he had no choice but to go crazy either way.

They finished their meals and Brome talked at him until a notification flashed on his phone and they got up to go. A car Martin had seen before in the school lot idled on the curb. Brome looked at it, then Martin. "Hey. Martin. Thanks for earlier, and, uh. Keeping me company and stuff." Brome flushed, embarrassed, but he smiled back at Martin's grin. Brome was a good kid.

Martin waved. "See ya at school." He turned away. He got a few steps down the street when Brome called again. "Hey! Wait!"

Martin turned to see him waving him back. "My sister wants to give you a ride," the young mouse explained.

His first instinct was to decline, but sitting down after a day of walking emphasized how _tired _he was. He didn't like to owe anybeast anything, but the kid owed _him _one. It was fair, right? Martin hesitated, and walked back. "Alright. Thanks."

He ducked into the backseat of the car. Brome's sister turned around in her seat to smile at him. "Hi! I think I've seen you around."

"That's who I was telling you about!" Brome said excitedly from the front seat. "The puncher."

Martin pressed himself into the pleather as if trying to escape his reputation, swallowing hard and shoving his hands in his pockets. He wasn't prepared for how pretty she was. Or for that introduction. "Hey. I'm Martin. Hope the ride is not too much trouble."

Gentle hazel eyes regarded him. There was a genuine smile in them. "Of course not! I'm Rose. I think we have a class together."

"Okay. Cool."

At her momentary silence Martin doubted himself. Was that not a normal thing normal people said? Why was talking so hard? He should have just walked home and kept his ineptitude to himself.

"Where can I take you?" Rose said, locking eyes with him in the rearview mirror. Martin gave them the address and listened to Brome's chatter, pretending that they had intended to meet up that day and they'd just walked further than anticipated, that's all. The kid's lies were of no concern to Martin, but he felt weird about playing along to Rose. So he opted to say nothing and stare out the window instead.

Martin got home twenty minutes later, kicking off his shoes and dropping onto his bed, fully clothed. Laying in the dark he stared up at the ceiling and reflected. Today had been… good. Weird, definitely. But it had succeeded in keeping his mind off things, and Brome was a nice kid, mysteries aside. He didn't even mind doing all the talking, which was a relief.

Martin rolled over. The weight of the day slipped from his shoulders and he fell asleep as he was. He dreamt, thankfully, of nothing.

* * *

Rose was, indeed, in one of his classes. She smiled and waved at him as he took his seat; his face flipped through it's catalogue of expressions until it settled on "ambivalent" as a failsafe and he nodded back. Martin slung his bag down and switched his brain to off as soon as the teacher arrived. He didn't mean to - the rest of the world moved despite him, carrying him along the inertia. Until -

"Partners?" Said a voice, and a notebook was slapped down on his desk.

Martin blinked up at Rose who was standing before his desk. She tilted her head, a faint smile. "Huh?" Martin said eloquently.

"Would you like to be partners," she reiterated. "You know. For the thing."

Martin squinted at the project instructions on the board. What class was this? History? "Right, the thing," he said. He was torn between relief at being rescued from being assigned a partner (a humiliation over which death would be preferred) and panic at fumbling his way around Rose. A few kids were looking at them curiously, but Martin shrugged and moved aside his stuff.

They started on the project, but mostly they talked. Rose wanted to know where he was from and how he liked the school. A predetermined city chosen by his case worker, and the school was fine. Why'd he move? Parents' jobs. Thinking of joining any clubs? Martin's eyes glazed over at the thought. The teacher tapping on their desk to remind them to focus halted their conversation for a little, but they were back at it before long.

"We'll have to finish this up before next week," Rose said as they packed their things. "We, ah, could work on this at the library after school if you want."

Martin swallowed back his agreement. Today was Monday. He had therapy.

"Sorry," he said. "Can't today."

But Rose smiled good-naturedly. "I'm sure we'll find time. Don't worry about it."

He wasn't. He had a whole evening of psychoanalytic fun to worry about. Hadn't they poked and prodded enough? The carefully crafted rooms, the hostile politeness, the _questions _. What happened? What did you see? _How do you feel _?

All because Manny thought he had an anger problem. Martin grit his teeth. Bullshit.

"Martin?"

He snapped back to it. "Yeah. Sorry. We'll figure it out later."

If Rose found him strange she didn't show it. She waved him goodbye in the hallway and left Martin to the beaks of the vultures. Okay, so he was being dramatic – school wasn't that bad now that the staring was over with. He navigated the rest of the day in dread of what would come when the final bell rang and his appointment time crept closer.


	3. Chapter 3

_He'd been in front of the TV. Windred called from the kitchen and sent him for something; a hazy object of insignifiance, but anything to make her happy. He got to his feet and went to the garage, finding the house far too empty on his way there. When he pulled open the door he discovered why._

_The faces stared at him from the gloom, lit only by a single bulb that illuminated just enough. The glint on the table. The depth in their eyes. He could feel the silence. He'd been young yet old enough to know. _

_A voice among them rang out sharply. "Martin," his father said from among them. "Get out." _

_Martin didn't budge. He'd seen the objects on the table. _

_"What are you going to do?" He asked. _

_Luke got up and moved toward him. "Martin. This has nothing to do with you." The rest of the tribe sat motionless. He would have found pity if he'd looked, but Martin didn't understand. _

_Martin stared up at his father, who never looked away, until the door closed in his face. _

_"Did you find it, dear?" Windred called from down the hall. _

The murkiness shifted and lightened. Martin realized his eyes were open and there was no longer a closed door before him but a foreign ceiling. Not a nightmare for once, but a different memory nonetheless.

That had been his chance, he thought again. One of so many. He could have gone to the cops. Told them about the bullets on the table and prevented it. He could have stopped it all. Martin's eyes squeezed shut.

But theirs had been a different world, and there the law did not interfere with a beast's retribution. Younger Martin had understood that. Older Martin knew that that same sick understanding had doomed them. In his bed he turned to his side and waited for the darkness to seep into his eyes and into his head, to make him sleep again.

* * *

"So, our history project?"

Rose Voh stood at his locker and brushed her headfur from her face. Martin fumbled and nearly dropped his lock. Definitely just because he was still half asleep this morning. Definitely.

"Right, yeah," he said. He cleared his throat. "When do you want to do that?"

"Grumm and I usually study after school on Wednesdays before choir practice. You could join us if you're not busy."

Martin tried not to go cross eyed at that. In another life he'd have laughed at the suggestion until it hurt. But in this life, Martin swallowed and said "Sure."

Grumm was a mole that Martin just noticed at Rose's side, who waved cheerfully and said something in an accent so thick Martin had to think to understand it. He smiled back though, liking the laugh lines around Grumm's eyes.

He liked Rose's smile at his acceptance a whole lot more. She waited for him to finish dealing with his locker. "Great. What class do you have next?"

He told her and all three made their way through the hallways. Somehow the looks of the students were easier to deal with, and they came fewer and fewer. Grumm was in the next class with him and his welcome company held them over until lunchtime.

It was still sunny enough in the season for an outdoor lunch. Martin tossed his backpack and climbed up, joined before long by Felldoh.

"What do you do when it gets cold?" Martin asked. If he leaned back on his elbows he could almost bathe entirely in sunlight.

"Skip, or find a spot by the cafe somewhere. Dunno. They usually give me detention at lunch. They're leaving me alone."

"You're on the up and up." Martin bit into his sandwich. "D'you know more about that Brome kid?"

Felldoh shrugged and accepted a bag of chips Martin offered him. "Not really. Except he's from the richest family here. Why? Did he ask you to teach him karate next?"

"Heh. Just want to know what's up with him."

"Yeah. You thinking bullies too?"

"Definitely bullies." It had seemed like slightly more than that. Extortion, almost. Martin remembered the gist of the overheard conversation; they were waiting on something from Brome, and if his family was rich, it didn't take a genius to figure out what.

"I can keep an eye on him. See if anybeast is bothering him." Felldoh offered.

"Yeah. Thanks." It wasn't his business, Martin knew. But one thing had not changed: he could stand those who preyed on the small.

* * *

"How was therapy?" Manny asked.

"Sucked."

"The first sessions are always rough, I hear."

Martin rolled the pasta around. Therapy had consisted of him sitting in a chair while filling out worksheets and questionnaires, answering as flatly as he could, trying to give the therapist as little ammunition as possible. He wasn't making it easy and he knew it, but something in him couldn't turn the key and open the door again - he'd see into the gloom to the faces sitting around the table. Beau. Vurg. Denno. Dulam. _Luke. _He could not bear to speak that emotion. It was easier to settle on rage.

He shoved that down and instead forked more linguini and ate in silence. Manny's cooking was improving. The apartment was improving too: a furnished living room did as it promised and made the place look almost habitable. He had a television now and a couch, some books, the works. Enough to help him forget.

By design Martin didn't know anything about Manny, but he seemed like he could be a father; he had a caring streak in him. Certainly it wasn't witness protection protocol to have dinner with their charge a few nights a week. Ashamed and grateful, Martin resolved he'd make an attempt to be friendlier.

"I made more friends," he offered. "Rose. And Grumm."

Manny beamed. "And not in detention?"

"Not in detention."

"Attaboy."

"Is it cool if I spend Wednesdays at the library after school?"

Manny squinted at him in disbelief. "Is that code for something?"

"I'm literally going to be spending my sunny afternoons indoor at the library. With adult supervision. For a project."

"Go for it. Make sure to coordinate with me for your ride, though."

"My friend can drop me off," Martin said. "That's not against the rules, right?"

That made Manny hesitate. "No, but… remember. No getting too close, okay? I'm sorry, but we want to keep you safe."

"Right," Martin said hollowly. "No close friendships."

"Sorry, kid."

"It's fine." Martin scraped the last of the sauce. He figured now would be a good time as any to ask. "When can I see my dad?"

Manny searched him and must have found something to pity. "I'll see if we can arrange a visit."

It would have to be enough. Martin ducked his head in understanding.

They finished dinner and washed up; Manny left and Martin remained. He flipped through tv channels before digging out his homework in defeat. He was a few reluctant sentences into an essay when his phone buzzed. It was from Felldoh.

_ Busy? _

_ No, _Martin replied. He drilled a hole into his phone with his eyes until a reply came.

_ Want to grab food _

For some company Martin would eat himself sick.

_ Yeah. Where? _

Thirty minutes later Martin was sliding into a booth whose seats must have been upholstered in the seventies. Country Kitchen was decorated like a rural grandmother's daydream, with wicker furniture and rustic accents. Still, it was nice. And best of all, it was open late on weekdays.

"I'm Keyla," said the cheerful otter across from him. "Hi, New Kid." The other otter beside him whapped him in the arm.

"And I'm Tullgrew." said the other. She turned back to her neighbor. "Don't be an ass."

"Can you guys not do this, like, all the time?" Felldoh grumbled as he ducked in beside Martin. But Keyla laughed and Tullgrew flashed him a smile, letting them know it was all in good fun.

"Ass is my middle name, actually," Keyla informed Martin seriously. Martin choked on his water as he joined the laughter.

"Rough. I sometimes go by Martin, if that makes you feel better."

Keyla fake-winced. "My sympathies, mate."

Tullgrew laughed and hit him again. "Please excuse this one. When he was little his favorite game was sticking forks in outlets. He hasn't been right since."

"It was like putting shape blocks in the right hole! So fun!" Keyla brightened.

They managed to smother the laughs as someone came around for their orders. Martin requested a side of fries: the cheapest thing on the menu. Old habits died hard.

"How's your dad?" Tullgrew asked after a little conversation. Martin cocked his head, eager to find out what he'd been too polite to ask.

"Doing better. He's a little frail still, but he's always been tough. He'll recover." Felldoh said tersely, drummed his claws on the table and cast about for a change of subject. "So you guys know the Voh family?"

"Who doesn't?" Keyla and Tullgrew nodded.

The squirrel shrugged. "Met Brome Voh in detention along with Martin here. Kinda think he's being bullied. Do you guys know who he hangs with?"

Keyla's eyebrows grew together in concern. "Huh. I don't really pay attention to 'im, mate, sorry."

But Tullgrew's eyes were wide. "Hey! That's who I saw the other day!" she turned to Keyla. "Remember when I said I saw a kid being shoved outside the bookshop? I couldn't remember what his name was, but that's the guy."

The rest were bewildered. "Really?"

"Yeah. When I crossed the street they were gone so I couldn't yell at them, but I definitely saw some weasel pushing a mouse around." She hissed. "Those Marshank folk. They're vile."

"The bookstore near the warehouse?" Felldoh frowned.

"Yeah, on the edge of town toward the highway."

Martin and Felldoh looked at each other. They hadn't actually expected anything to turn up, and yield only more questions.

Keyla laughed at them. "You guys are like the Hardy Boys. Gonna go investigate?"

"Maybe, yeah," Felldoh said between bites of Martin's fries.

Definitely, Martin thought.

"As for who his friends are," Tullgrew informed them, "I think I saw him at lunch with that other new kid. What's his name? Pallum?"

"Last year's new kid," Felldoh said. "A hedgehog."

"You know all that? You guys weren't kidding about this being a small town," Martin laughed. He tucked Pallum's name away for later.

Keyla leaned toward Martin beseechingly. "There's so little going on here that when a new store opens, it's all we talk about for weeks."

"Kill us," Tullgrew agreed. "If you're not into the sportsball teams your only other option is to watch paint dry."

"Only fun for the first hour." Keyla quipped.

"What was your old town like, Martin?"

Martin chewed on the last fry. He had the stock answers Manny drilled into his head. Still, what he said wasn't a lie.

"Small, too. Smaller than here. But I was always too busy running around to be bored." Martin couldn't keep himself from floating off to his birthplace, with its unforgiving shore and dizzying cliffs. He heard Windred call it cold and ugly; but Martin had climbed too many rocks until his fingers were numb and raced Timballisto back to the shore too often to find it so. There had been just a few shops and the general store. Martin had been born there and knew nothing else. He'd been happy, for a while.

If Martin had slipped away, none of his friends seemed to notice. Soon enough their chatter moved on to other things and for the first time in a good, long while, Martin felt a little like himself again.

When they parted ways he felt almost energized. Things weren't so bad. It felt good to have a plan where he could finally find some answers about Brome. Manny said he could maybe see his father, which Martin refused to be pessimistic about for once. And Wednesday he'd talk to Rose again.

For the first time in a long while Martin had something to look forward to.


	4. Chapter 4

Calculus worksheets, check. The extra credit too. Biology homework, check. History….

_In progress_, she scribbled into her agenda. Rose capped the gel pen and straightened her notebooks. Her nightly routine of preparing for the next day had taken longer than usual, thanks to a new math concept she hadn't paid attention to in class. She'd been distracted lately. Time flew by without her noticing, and when she was focused she did her best to not think about what was going on at home. Speaking of which… Brome had been quiet all evening following the fight at dinner.

Rose had brushed her teeth and was braiding her rich auburn hair for bed when she heard the creak of the patio door downstairs. It was a remnant of the house pre-restoration, and her mother couldn't bring herself to replace the antique oak doors. That meant the awful loud hinges, too. There was only so much WD-40 could do, the renovator said. And it didn't save Brome.

Her brother froze when he saw her at the top of the stairs.

"It's nearly midnight," She hissed, paws on her hips.

"Mind your own business." Brome huffed and tried to shoulder past her.

She blocked his path. "Don't walk away from me or I'm waking up mom and dad. Have you been out all night? I thought you were in your room!"

"Shut up!" Brome whisper-yelled. He was pale even in the rich hallway lighting and his whiskers twitched. "I just didn't want to come home, okay?"

He knew that would worry Rose into silence. He felt bad saying it, but also wasn't a lie. Rose let him step around her.

"Were you out with friends, then?"

Brome sighed as he tiptoed past the master suite his parents slept in. "Yes, okay? Don't worry."

"Felldoh and Martin?" Rose asked. Who else could it be? The old friends she knew of would have been dead asleep by like, nine.

"Uh," Brome halted without her notice, "Yeah. Now goodnight." In the sliver of space between his sanctuary and her scrutiny, Rose saw a terrible bruise past the fur on his forearm. Then the door closed firmly, but quietly, in her face.

* * *

Wednesday afternoon light bathed the library table and struck Martin with that peculiar sense of separation he felt when there was a view of the golden outdoors from the gloomy interior. It usually made him itch to bolt until he felt the coarse sand of the shore against his paws. This time, however, he had a good reason to stay.

"History," Rose chirped, dumping her textbook on the table.

Martin tried to rewire his entire being into someone that loved history. Dates, motives, names. It worked for a moment, until Rose started listing potential timelines for their project.

Grumm said something Martin couldn't catch.

"One of the wars?" Rose translated. "That's always interesting."

A brief flash of memory struck him into a standstill for just a moment, then it passed. "Kind of morbid, but sure." At their looks, Martin shrugged. "Everyone picks those."

"Hmm, true." They continued flipping through books for inspiration.

The afternoon light waned and they decided on a topic and got to work. Martin didn't mind the tedium of homework when it was in Rose's presence; she explained concepts like she told a story and always found a reason to laugh. They managed to do a lot of that in the hours they spent together.

Then evening came and Grumm went off to the bathroom while they were packing up their things. They sat on the table side by side, bags ready to go, unwilling to leave. Or at least he was. The light outside burned and turned Rose's fur into a wildfire where it struck.

"Say, Martin," Rose said. Martin tore his eyes from her.

"I'm glad you and Brome are friends," she started slowly. "But next time you guys stay out late, could you let me know?"

Confused, Martin knew he didn't have all the pieces of the conversation. "Sure… but you picked us up."

"Not last week." She shook her head. "I meant last night."

Martin frowned at her, and she blinked back. "I wasn't with Brome yesterday."

"But… he said he was." Rose muttered. Brome Voh was a little brother, by nature a nuisance and a trouble maker, but he wasn't a liar.

"Brome's been… up to something," Martin carefully said, not willing to give everything away just yet. He'd promised, and that meant something. Martin prided himself on his silence.

Rose was absent-mindedly chewing on her braid. "I think so, too." She glanced up at him, eyes so full and pleading that Martin nearly looked away. "Am I wrong to worry? Are we overthinking it?"

"Best case scenario is that he's made new friends. Worst case, he's just with a bad crowd. Not the end of the world. I'll see if I can find some stuff out, okay?"

She gave him a smile that stilled him. "Okay. Thank you."

Grumm returned and they picked up their things. Martin was already running the past few days through his head, quickly typing out a text to Felldoh.

"Same address as before?"

"What? Oh. Yeah. Thanks for the ride." They waved Grumm goodbye and ducked into Rose's car.

"Are you parents okay with you missing dinner?" Rose joked as they pulled onto the road. The synthetic lights washed over them.

Martin looked out the window when he lied, it just made it easier. "My parents work abroad."

"Wait, you live alone?"

"Yeah." He pressed his temple against the cold window.

"That's so cool!" Rose's eyes were bright. "I live with my brother and mom and dad. It's a big house, but somehow there's never enough privacy."

"Hm. My place is the opposite. It's a little depressing."

"I'm sure it's not that bad! Would you mind if I-" Rose blushed, but kept on. "If we worked at your place sometime? Instead of the library?"

Manny would _skin _him. Martin smiled. "Sure. It's a little bare, though."

Rose cheered. "We could help you decorate!" They both laughed.

His apartment came into view too soon and she dropped him off cheerfully. Once inside Martin tossed his backpack on the couch and pulled out his phone to see Felldoh's response.

_ 'Up for a little exploration?' Always. When are you thinking? _

_ How about now_, Martin replied.

* * *

It didn't take long to fill Felldoh in, and Martin was right in guessing he was the kind of squirrel to take up any opportunity for adventure.

The gravel crunched under the tires as Felldoh killed the engine. They'd parked a ways from the bookstore by the edge of town, further still from their destination: the abandoned warehouse. Getting out of the warm car revealed that the night was a heavy navy against his denim jacket, the cold pressing in. Martin had his phone ready in case he needed the flashlight, but there was ambient light enough to see by.

"Nice night for some mischief," Felldoh grinned.

"Wonder what that kid's up to, out there," Martin tilted his head up to the stars.

"Bet you it's a gang. He's an informant for a crime ring."

They looked at each other, seeing only the glint from the starlight, and burst into laughter. The sound was quickly eaten by the night. "Yeah, right."

The warehouse loomed before them, long ago left to the temperament of the elements. Martin didn't know anything about manufacturing; he couldn't begin to guess what it had been used for. The windows were all discolored differently, some smashed or missing. Large pillars sat at the foundation which was crumbling and exposed an easy entrance. A strange blight in the idyllic town. Posters about impending demolition on the fence lining the perimeter assured the residents that this atrocity wouldn't offend them for long.

"Over here," Felldoh waved him over. They carefully climbed inside a side entrance where double doors had been removed and once their eyes adjusted, saw the warehouse from within: it was barren, concrete, and cold. Machinery of dubious use was littered everywhere and pipes went every which way, on the floor and still suspended, disappearing into the high ceiling above.. Martin turned on his flashlight for a better look and found that oddly, there was a complete lack of habitation. No drifters were huddled away from the wind or ramshackle tents set up. The walls were clear of tags or graffiti.

"Kinda disappointing," Felldoh said quietly at his side.

Honestly, Martin didn't expect much. But what could spur rumors of Brome hanging around this place?

"Yeah," he said, picking his way forward slowly. "But there should be at least _somebeast _here. Homeless and stuff."

"Huh. Yeah." Felldoh frowned, then saw Martin was getting too far ahead. He ran to him. "Whoa, hold up."

Then something through the window caught his eye and Martin froze. "Felldoh!" He hissed. "Turn your light off!" He did the same and blinked fast as their eyes took in the gloom.

They breathed in the silence, watching a light in the distance. Martin quickly ran to the window and wiped it with his fist to squint through. It was the double set of a car's headlights, then another, driving into view from the street by the warehouse. Soon another joined it. The first set turned off, then the rest in succession.

"Holy -" Felldoh swore.

"Let's check it out," Martin said. He ducked back through the warehouse and carefully peeked out to make sure no more cars were coming, then turned toward the distant gathering.

Behind him, Felldoh grabbed Martin's arm. "Whoa, Martin. You sure you want to sneak out there?"

He told Rose he would, but that seemed silly to admit. So Martin gave Felldoh a look. "Never took you for a cautious one."

"Just seems like a lot of trouble for no good reason, but if you're gonna do it…" Felldoh shrugged and let go. Martin grinned. "Just to see what's up, okay? Then we bolt."

The cars had gathered in an area a couple yards from the warehouse which hid them from the road. There was a line of trees edging a small forest to one side and open terrain on the other, through which the cars drove once the road ended. Martin and Felldoh ducked around the front of the warehouse so they could enter the trees unnoticed, then slowly picked their way toward the gathering.

"So what could it be? Any nighttime clubs around here?" Martin whispered in the dark. He almost tripped several times, definitely tripped once. Maybe twice.

"Just the local werewolf chapter, you know, the usual. Not a full moon tonight though."

"Right, that rules that out."

Finally they crept close enough, still keeping well within the shelter of the trees. However, it meant they couldn't hear anything. The two huddled together to watch.

The cars must have been packed - several shapes belonging to a few species lounged around the cars, talking and laughing coarsely. Martin could hear nothing substantial, but he could see their necks swivel to the road often, waiting for something. There was tension among them. For minutes Martin and Felldoh kneeled in the cold dirt. Felldoh brushed an ant off his jacket and was about to say something when a spear of illumination hit the gathering and the treeline; a fourth car had appeared and everyone in the field spread out, waiting.

Everybeast seemed to hold their breath as the engine was cut and a figure stepped out, holding something hefty. Martin crawled closer. A bag of some sort.

"Martin," Felldoh warned but he was watching intently, too.

There were some words being exchanged as somebeast from the first group walked up to the last. They were far away, but something about the way the light caught a certain figure - Martin scowled, crawling closer still - it couldn't be -

There was something horribly familiar about the figure that was passing the bag. They kept turning their heads this way and that, but Martin just wanted a good angle of the feature he remembered most: the white marking running up the snout to the middle of the forehead. A mark he'd seen that cold night not so long ago, lining up with the barrel of a gun.

"Martin. Martin!" Felldoh hissed somewhere far behind him. Martin didn't realize his paws were shaking because he was clawing them into the dross of the wood floor as he moved closer, almost breaking cover from the trees, and Felldoh's words couldn't quite reach him.

Then the light hit the stoat's face just right, lighting the trenches of his face and his eyes, settling right on Martin.

It _was _him.

There was a moment of stillness, the stoat's eyes widening and catching the moonlight. Then he parsed what his eyes saw and what it meant; the stoat started yelling.

A vicious yank pulled him back and Felldoh had his jacket in a fist, then they were scrambling to their knees and racing through the woods. Behind them shouting followed them from the field and lights started to creep through the trunks so Martin and Felldoh raced faster still. They dodged trees and branches with single-minded desperation, never losing sight of each other or relenting their pace. His lungs burned hot white but still they ran until they broke through the other side of the trees, and Felldoh pulled him in the direction of his car. Here they slowed in order to remain as quiet as possible, but still went as fast as they dared, avoiding the gravel around the warehouse and ducking into shadows until they found a street again.

Felldoh's beat up car was the most welcome sight Martin could imagine. They tossed themselves inside and Felldoh started the car with quivering jerks, speeding off and trying to blend into any remaining traffic during the dead of night. Neither spoke as they hustled through the sleeping city, anxious at any sight of headlights. Thankfully it seemed they'd had a long head start, and nobeast followed them.

Finally Felldoh stopped the car in the underground garage of Martin's apartment. Then he turned furious eyes to Martin and roared.

"What - in the seasons - were you thinking?!" He almost screamed.

Martin closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. He'd thought the nightmare of last year was over, but it was here - and he'd dragged Felldoh into it, too.

Felldoh was about to let him have more, but Martin swiped a paw against a drenched forehead and cut in. "I knew that stoat, Felldoh."

His friend stared at him, then blankly ahead. "That was - that was definitely a gang, Martin."

"Yeah."

"Damn." Felldoh beat the steering wheel. "I was only _kidding _earlier" He looked at Martin with fury and questions. "If you knew that guy, and Brome's been tied up in this, you've got a lot of explaining to do."

The yellow light filtered into the car and made Martin feel so terribly alone again, even with Felldoh at his side. "You should leave the car far from your house tonight, just in case."

Felldoh swore again. "What are we going to do?"

"We have to call the police," Martin said dully. He'd have to tell Manny.

They decided it'd be best to stay off the roads and for Felldoh to spend the night. Things were tense, even as Martin handed Felldoh some blankets and wished him whatever comfort he could find on the couch.

"Did that _really _happen?" Felldoh asked from the gloom before Martin closed his door. "I haven't just been hallucinating for the past three hours, right?"

Martin felt like he'd been hallucinating a lot longer. "It happened," he said sadly. He didn't just mean tonight. Martin stalled by the bedroom door.

"I'm - I'm so sorry I got you caught up in this."

For a moment Felldoh said nothing. "Yeah, that wasn't fun, but you'd have been dead if I hadn't been there. Well, probably. You don't think they had guns, do you?"

Martin had to half-smile at that. He would have found a way to that warehouse on his own, true. And oh yes, they had guns.


End file.
